11 comments/ 11177 views/ 2 favorites Casper House By: YDB95 Little Audrey's mother was the worst sort of doting Supermom, and every year she had a painstakingly homemade costume. This year, she wore a papier-mâché pumpkin, capped off with an orange saucepan lid for a hat which kept slipping off to the side. "Jim! My hat!" she ordered once again. "I'll have to start charging you snacks to fix this for you," Jim said as he straightened the lid for at least the fifth time since they'd set off. Audrey was, of course, unable to fix the hat herself, as her arms were stuck out to the sides of the pumpkin. "Yeah, right, Jim, you're not getting any of my candy!" Audrey snapped in the babytalk accent she had yet to outgrow at age eight. Jim recalled that her brother, Tristan, who had been in his class, had the same problem. Tristan had also been a nasty little brat just like Audrey, and Jim drew no small pleasure in knowing the jerk was still living at home while he, Jim, was attending college hundreds of miles away. If only he'd found an excuse to stay away for fall break! "You want candy, you ask your sister," Audrey concluded firmly, once again without a thank-you for fixing her hat as she pranced off toward the next house. "He's my half brother, and he's not getting any of my candy either!" Heather said. "I haven't had any problems with my costume, have I?" "Not except that no one knows what it is," Audrey chirped. "Hey!" Heather slapped Audrey on the side of the head, and Audrey's hat went askew again. "Jim, my hat!" "Heather, that was rude," Jim said, though privately he couldn't blame his half-sister. It was true: an awful lot of the people who had met them at the door had told Heather she was an adorable angel when she was really supposed to be a butterfly. "What do you know, Jim?" Heather demanded. "You know what Mom said about your father last week?" "Yes," Jim said as he fixed Audrey's hat again. He didn't know, but it was easy enough to guess what Mom might have said after her third drink or so of the afternoon. "Jim, why are you a nerd for Halloween when you already were a nerd anyway?" Audrey demanded in lieu of thanks once he had her hat back on. Heather dissolved into haughty giggles, and the girls' earlier feud was forgotten. "I'm not a nerd, I'm a fifties greaser," Jim replied. Jeans, hi-tops, a t-shirt with a spare pack of Mom's cigarettes rolled up in the left-hand sleeve, and slicked hair...it was the perfect homage to the era of his favorite kind of music, not to mention a fast and convenient costume after Mom had sloshed rum and Coke on his sweater during their argument over who was going to take the girls trick or treating. His only complaint was that it was a bit chilly to be out in a t-shirt. "You're a fifties nerd, Jim," Heather corrected. "A nerd in any decade," Audrey corrected. "My brother used to say so all the time!" "At least your brother didn't have to listen to all that ancient music all the time!" Heather added. "Earth angel, earth angel, will you shut up already!" Back in high school, Jim had promised himself every year that this would be the last time he took little Heather and her friends trick or treating. When he'd started college two years ago and hundreds of miles away, it had looked as though he was free at last of the yearly burden. Just his luck, then, that fall break had happened to coincide with Halloween this year, and so that day just after lunch Mom had once again informed him that he would take his much-younger half-sister out. "You know perfectly well you love it, James," she had told him as she mixed her first drink of the afternoon. "No, I don't, and you know it, Mom!" he had protested. "Sooner or later Heather gets tired, and she always gets really nasty really fast when that happens. I had enough of that back in high school." "Okay, you're right," Mom had conceded. "But you're outranked, honey. She's going with Audrey, and I'm certainly not spending the afternoon with that little brat." "Audrey!" Jim had slammed his fist down on the counter at the mention of Heather's spoiled, manipulative best friend. "I refuse! She's such a little..." "Don't you dare use that word, you shithead!" Mom had snapped, sloshing her drink onto his sweater as she jabbed her finger at him. "You know I don't tolerate sexist language in this house, even from a chauvinist pig like you who doesn't know any better! Should've kicked your father out years before I did." "But she is!" Jim knew better than to do anything but ignore his mother's favorite epithet for him. "All her life, she's had Heather wrapped around her finger --" "I know that, Jim! Heather's just like you, no backbone at all, but at least she's only eight. Someday maybe she'll come to her senses and choose better friends, but for now Audrey is her friend and they're going trick or treating together, and I'm not going to bother with that little brat myself. You're living under my roof, you'll do what I tell you, you shithead!" At least the order meant an afternoon out of the house, Jim reminded himself as he ushered Heather and Audrey through the streets of the old neighborhood, vowing with every step to have someplace else to be next fall break. He did his best to content himself with his favorite childhood memories of the old neighborhood, which had changed only a little here and there in the two years he'd been gone. The two brats were still sharing a laugh at his expense when they rang the next doorbell. The sun was starting to sink over the rooftops of Maple Street, Jim was happy to note. At least that would give him an excuse to call it a day soon enough. "Trick or treat!" Heather and Audrey sang out as an older woman answered the door. "Well, now!" exclaimed the woman as she held out a bowl of peanut-butter cups. "A little bird told me there were a pumpkin and an angel at the door, and I thought that can't be right! But here you are!" To Jim she added, "You look just like the boy I went to prom with," and she offered him the bowl. "Thank you," Jim said, helping himself to a peanut butter cup. "Take a few more if you want!" she encouraged him. Jim complied. "Thanks again. Heather, did you say thank you?" "You're not the boss of me!" Heather retorted. "You're not the boss of anyone, Jim," Audrey added, and they both turned off across the woman's lawn toward the next house. "I'm so sorry, ma'am," Jim said. "I'll say thanks for all three of us." "Don't worry, dear, maybe your sisters will grow up to have your manners someday," she told him with a smile. She shut the door before Jim had a chance to explain that the pumpkin was, thank heavens, not related to him. Jim took a moment to unwrap one of the sweets before catching up with the girls. When he did, he found Heather standing in the middle of the driveway sobbing uncontrollably while Audrey looked on. "What now?" Jim asked. "Shut up, Jim!" Heather screeched. "What is your problem?" "You know what, you shithead!" Jim felt his hands curl into fists. "Heather! Don't you dare call me that. It's bad enough Mom does --" "Mom's right about you!" Heather wailed. "That's it, we're going home." Jim grabbed Heather's wrist and turned up Oak Street towards their house, but Heather pulled back in the other direction. He also reached for Audrey's hand, but she danced out of his reach with a haughty laugh. "If you're going to talk to me like that, no more candy for you!" he ordered Heather, ignoring the brat for the moment. "No! I'm not done!" Heather insisted. "Then tell me what your problem is!" Jim demanded. "Everybody thinks I'm an angel! They never get Audrey's costume wrong!" "Oh, so what?" Jim said. "It's their mistake, and you still get the candy. But you're not getting any more unless you knock it off." "I'll tell Mom when we get home that you cut the trip short, and she'll yell at you!" "She'll find something to yell at me about anyway," Jim said. "Think I care about that?" At that, Audrey once again burst into laughter. "I'm going to the next house, Heather, whether you are or not," she announced, and she pranced off across the street. Jim turned back to Heather, then doubled back as he recalled that 'the next house' was an old mustard-colored Dutch colonial with ivy growing over most of its surface, known to decades of neighborhood kids as "Casper House" because its only occupant was rumored to be a senile old man who smiled at passerby from the porch but never came out or said anything -- a friendly ghost of sorts. No one knew if the old man -- whatever his real name -- had ever given the kids any cause to be afraid of him, because no one had ever dared knock on the door. Especially not on Halloween. But Audrey, whose family lived several blocks away, wasn't up to speed on their neighborhood legends. "Audrey, no!" Jim called out. "That's Casper House! No one ever goes anywhere near there!" "You can't stop me!" Audrey replied sassily as she sauntered up the rickety steps. At that moment, two cars drove past, forcing Jim to wait helplessly on the sidewalk across the street. Once the coast was clear, he pulled Heather across the street. But she was still straining against him, and he hadn't even managed to get her halfway across before Audrey reached the top step and, turning sideways for access pressed the doorbell triumphantly. Seeing the panic on Jim's face, she laughed. Jim finally got to the foot of the steps he had always so assiduously avoided himself when he was younger, and grabbed in vain for Audrey's hand before the door opened. With Heather still screeching and throwing her full weight in the other direction, Audrey was easily able to avoid Jim's desperate grasp, and he was still scraping uselessly at the back of her pumpkin when the door opened. For a few panicked seconds, Jim was his eight year old self on the ultimate neighborhood dare, feeling every bit of the terror that had kept him from ever ending up on those steps back then, swearing to himself that the worst the old man would do was tell them to get off his lawn, and reasoning that at last he had the ability to yank Audrey away to safety. All these thoughts and dozens of others roared through his mind as helplessly he watched the door open. "I'm sorry, sir, we..." Jim began. His voice trailed away as the figure behind the door came into focus. It wasn't the creepy-friendly old man he had known and feared all those years ago at all, but rather a cheerful-looking dark haired woman, Jim's age or possibly a bit younger even. She wore a floral print dress that looked every bit as much out of the fifties as Jim's costume did. He could even see crinolines under her skirt from his vantage point at the bottom of the stairs. "Trick or treat!" Audrey bellowed. Not to be outdone, Heather darted around Jim and up the steps and held her goodie bag out as well. "Well, we certainly do have treats here," the young woman said, holding out a plate of homemade cupcakes. "Kids, don't take those!" Jim managed to say as the panic passed. "You know the rules about homemade food from strangers." "Don't listen to him!" Audrey said. "He's just my friend's stupid half-brother!" "Well, he is right," the woman allowed. Looking at Jim now, she added, "But where's your costume?" Jim, relieved as he was confused, laughed. "Yeah, I guess we cancel each other out as far as costumes are concerned. Did you watch Grease for inspiration?" "Did I watch what?" She now looked just as flummoxed as Jim was feeling. "Never mind him!" Audrey exclaimed. "We want the cupcakes!" "My word, you're an impertinent one!" the woman said to Audrey, setting the tray of cupcakes aside. To Jim she asked, "Is she always like this?" "I'm afraid so," Jim said. "I've known her since she was three." "Well, I'll tell you what, girls," she said. "Your brother is right, you really shouldn't take treats from strangers. But I've got good news for you: you're just in time for the show my family puts on every year for the neighborhood kids. Come join the other kids in the living room, and then you won't be strangers anymore, will you? Then we'll be friends and you can have the cupcakes...if you remember your manners!" "Now, wait a minute..." Jim began. But before he could put a stop to anything, Audrey and Heather had clambered inside. Jim rushed up the steps after them, but the hostess took his hand and pulled him aside. "Let's let the kids have some space for now, shall we?" she asked with a sugary smile. "In the meantime, perhaps you'd like a cupcake?" She picked the tray back up off the table where she had set them, and Jim had his first ever look around the interior of Casper House. It was furnished with ancient but pristine couches and chairs in garish floral prints not unlike his new friend's dress. There was even a black and white television buzzing in the living room, where Jim now saw several other children were playing with a plethora of toys that also looked like museum pieces. Jim looked down at the enticing sweets. "Um...I really shouldn't accept sweets from strangers either, you know," he stammered. "My name is Betty," she said, shaking his hand. "Now we're not strangers." "I'm Jim," he said, and thinking the cupcakes were the least bizarre development of the past two minutes, he picked one off the tray. "Thank you." "You're very welcome, Jim. So are you and your sister -- oh, excuse me, half sister -- new in the neighborhood?" "Well, no!" Jim couldn't hide his surprise at the question. "I take it you are? And what's with the retro furniture? Even the TV?" "The TV is new!" Betty reassured him. "Our first one. Father finally gave in and bought one last year. We've lived here since he came home from the war. I was only eight then." Jim decided to play along, whatever the joke might be. "He was in Iraq, was he?" "No. Italy mostly, but he doesn't like to talk about it. None of my friends' fathers do, of course." "Right, of course," Jim said. "My grandfather never did either. He was in Korea." "Your grandfather was in Korea?" Betty exclaimed. "Is he a general?" Jim let it slip out: "No, he got drafted." "Drafted, and he's old enough to be a grandfather?! I don't understand!" "That makes two of us," Jim said. His fear now returning, he looked into the living room. "Should we be keeping an eye on the kids?" "Her mother and I are doing that," came a voice behind Jim, who turned around to see a vaguely familiar looking, dark haired man of 45 or thereabouts. He was carrying a pitcher of milk in one hand and a stack of glasses in the other. "We try to do something special like this every Halloween. It's a tradition since Betty was their age. Our way of making up for all the fun I missed when she was a little girl and I was off in Europe. Your father probably understands too." "Yeah, yeah of course!" Jim had given up on trying to understand the situation, and there was no need to sour the festive mood by explaining that his father was an absentee drunk whom he hadn't seen in years. Betty's father, having set down the milk and glasses on the cocktail table for her mother to pour for the children, returned to shake Jim's hand. "I'm sorry my daughter hasn't introduced us properly. We're always telling her she's welcome to have any of her friends from college over, even boys, but she's so secretive anymore." "He's not a friend from college, Father!" Betty protested. "He's a neighborhood boy, and we just met. His name is Jim, just like you, Father." "Ah, well, then I'm sorry," the older man said. "One Jim to another, then, welcome. Are you new in the neighborhood?" The word "yes" formed on Jim's lips, until he recalled that he had just told Betty otherwise. "No, I'm just...I've been away at college too." "Ah, you too then! Well, I'm sure you and Betty have plenty to talk about. We'll watch the children." "I'm not...are you sure?" Jim was still wary, and a glance in the living room confirmed that Audrey was already antagonizing a couple of the other little rugrats. "Of course he's sure!" Betty told him, taking him by the arm. "Let's go have some more cupcakes in the kitchen!" "I really ought to have a chat with Audrey first," Jim said. "I can see already she's being a little --" Betty yanked him away by his arm. "My parents know how to handle a brat like that, I promise! Let's go get you a cupcake!" "Er, okay!" Jim's head was swimming, but it didn't seem wise to argue the point. The hallway looked just as retro as the rest of the house had, as did the kitchen, where in spite of Betty's suggestion, they didn't stop. Instead she guided him through the kitchen to the back stairs. "We're not really stopping here, are we?" "Are you joking?" Betty grinned at him. "We're a couple of mature adults, aren't we? We deserve an adult treat." "Whoa, hold it!" Jim stopped short in the hallway. "You're beautiful and all that, but I just met you and I am responsible for Heather and Audrey. I know they're a couple of spoiled little shits, but still..." "Don't you get it, Jim?" Betty asked him with a soothing touch of her hands on both of his. "They're getting what they need, and I'm getting what I want, and you're getting almost what you want. That's all. Sorry I don't look more like Jayne Mansfield, but I'll have to do." Jim was more flummoxed than ever. "How do you know about that, Betty? You just met me, and I'm nearly sure you don't really live here, at least not since you were a little kid like you said, and I know you know it's the twenty-first century out there, and --" Betty pressed one finger to Jim's lips and silenced him. "And I know what you like! It doesn't matter how I know. The point is, I know about your thing for the fifties, and that's what you're getting for Halloween! That's all." "You just guessed that because of my costume," Jim protested. "That plus your big collection of doo-wop CDs and the James Dean poster you had on your closet door all through high school," Betty teased. "Bwah..." Now Jim was frightened. Betty burst into giggles. "Relax, Jim, you're safe! And I'm flattered you have such a hard-on for my era, really. I guess I can't blame guys for liking the fifties; it was still such a man's world back then." She took him by the hand again and led him into her room, which was drowning in ruffles and postwar kitsch. Jim felt like he'd stepped into a museum, or onto the set of a bad Disney movie. "Have a seat on the bed and I'll put on some music," she said. Jim watched as she turned on an ancient record player and set a stack of 45s in the record changer. "I'm sorry I never bought too many doo-wop records. My collection was mostly Elvis and some Chuck Berry here and there. And I put them all away along with all my poodle skirts when I went off to college, too. All the girls I knew there were into jazz and folk. I had just bought my first couple of Pete Seeger albums when...well, in any case, those aren't here, they're at school. But my rock and roll records are here, anyway." She turned back to him with a welcoming smile as the bass riff intro to "Don't Be Cruel" barreled out of the old speakers, and held out her hands for him. "Dance?" "Sure," Jim said, though he felt sure of nothing. Betty whirled him gently around the space between her dresser and her bed, her skirt flaring enticingly as they danced. "I do admire your taste," she told him. "Kind of a kick dressing up like this again, actually," she said. "I do hope it's okay that I don't look more like Jayne Mansfield. I could have come back looking like her, but I prefer to be myself as I was." That stopped Jim cold in his tracks once again. "How on earth do you know that?!" he demanded. "Know what?" Betty asked innocently, but with a mischievous look in her eyes. "That your greatest fantasy is a night with Jayne Mansfield? The same way I know everything I know about you, of course." Casper House "That's my question!" "You don't want to know the answer, Jim," Betty said with a sympathetic look on her face and a great deal of finality in her voice. "I cannot implore you enough, just enjoy the time we've got. It isn't long. Just understand I know about your thing for the fifties, and it's only this once a year I get to come back here. I'd like to spend it with you, and don't expect me to believe you aren't dying to hold me!" She opened her arms. Jim gave in and walked into them, and despite the uptempo song, they slow-danced. "This does feel lovely," Jim admitted. "I always wished our school dances were more like they were back then. So much more romantic." "It wasn't as much like that as you think," Betty said. "In any event, you're not in high school anymore." "No point in asking you how you knew that," Jim said. "Nope." A pleasant silence followed, broken with a question from Betty. "There's only one thing I can't figure out. Why the poster of James Dean when you could have had one of Jayne Mansfield, if you're so crazy about her?" "I used to have one," Jim said. "But my mother caught me looking at it and, well..." Betty laughed. "I'm sorry, Jim, I know just what you mean! That's exactly why there's no Elvis poster in this room, if you can believe that! My mother taught me some very interesting words that day, I can tell you! And then I started locking my door after that, but the horse was out of the barn as far as Elvis was concerned." "Rats, and I didn't bother growing out my sideburns," Jim quipped. Betty's laughter grew harder, and she stopped dancing and squeezed him tightly. "You're adorable just like you are, I assure you," she said. "But you know, most of the boys back then didn't really dress like you are now." "I figured." "And the girls? Well, a nice dress like this was for special occasions. But today is a special occasion, isn't it?" "It certainly is for me," Jim allowed, fingering the vintage fabric gingerly, as if she might vanish into thin air if he pressed too hard. "And for me too!" Betty insisted. "Please, Jim, I know you don't really understand what's going on, but believe me when I say this is just as special for me as it is for you! It's only once a year I get to come back here, and in my day an enlightened young man like you was just about nonexistent!" She flopped down on her bed and patted the spot next to her for him to sit down, which he did. "And we only have until the sun goes down." "What happens then?" "If you're dumb enough to still be here then, you'll see, Jim. But you really don't want to know." Jim smiled and finally gave in to ignorance of it all...if this was all in his imagination, he was willing to stay as long as his imagination would allow. "So," he said, his face but inches from hers now. "You find me enlightened?" "I saw how well you put up with those two little brats, and you know I won't tell you how, but I know what your mother's like. She's given you every excuse there is to become the worst sort of misogynist pig, and yet you're the exact opposite. If anything, Jim, you're all too respectful of my space here, when I'm practically throwing myself at you!" On that note, she twisted around and presented her back to him, holding her hair up out of the way to reveal the clasp of her dress. "It's your chance to make love to a genuine fifties college coed, Jim. But like I said, we haven't got all day!" "I guess I'd better hurry it up then," Jim said, and he set about undoing the clasp. "Just don't go too fast!" Betty replied, turning back around and slipping her arms around him. "I'm counting on some enlightenment in bed as well as out!" Jim hadn't had a date in months, much less a kiss. The touch of Betty's lips on his was a jolt of wonderful energy that only multiplied as she ran her hands up and down his chest. He let out a gasp of pleasure as she did. "You like that, do you?" she cooed between kisses. "Love it," Jim said. "So do I, dear," she whispered matter-of-factly. Jim laughed and took the hint, peeling the loose dress down over her shoulders and caressing her breasts lightly to her great pleasure, not opening his eyes just yet to see what he was feeling. "Hope you weren't expecting a cone bra, Jim," she said. "I never liked them." Jim opened his eyes to see she was wearing a plain old-fashioned bra, and looking quite eager to be freed of it. "You do know how to undo them, don't you?" she teased. "Of course," Jim whispered, and reaching back, he soon had the bra undone. Betty made fast work of swinging it off towards the closet door, and sat up straight and proudly topless before him. Jim lay her back gently on the bed and set about kissing her plump nipples, first left and then right, teasing the other with his hands in turn. The bodice of her dress was bunched up beneath them, but she made no complaint. "God, Jim, that's nice!" she cooed. "Most guys in my day just liked to squeeze them." "I'm not most guys, am I?" Jim was rubbing both breasts with his hands now, and still planting kiss after kiss on her hard nipples. "Indeed!" Betty exhaled breathily. Remembering the rule he'd heard from someone more experienced once in the locker room -- "Imagine how long you think she wants you to play with them, and then multiply that by three" -- he was content to suckle her through the next record. When at last it faded out, he slid gracefully off the bed and tugged at Betty's skirt with both hands. The multilayered fabric came away surprisingly easily, as he saw her lift up her hips to allow the bunched bodice out from under her. He lay the dress gently on a chair, still treating it like the antique he supposed it was, and turned to see Betty curled up on the bed in her panties. "You could have left it on the floor, really," she said. "It cleans up well. I'll bet you do, too, without that grease in your hair." Jim laughed and, feeling overdressed for the occasion, took his shirt off. Once he had it over his head, he saw Betty had taken the opportunity to finish undressing. She stood up before him. "Let me help you off with these, too," she said, undoing his belt buckle. It took her a few moments to undo the belt and then the button and zipper of his jeans, so Jim had a chance to admire Betty's body for the first time. Once she had his pants off, she stood back, hands on her hips, and grinned. "Like what you see, do you?" "I certainly do," he said, drinking in the beautiful sight. She leaned over and whispered in his ear. "It feels as good as it looks!" She took his hand in both of hers and placed it between her legs, and he felt at once that she was right. As she kissed him again, he ran his thumb teasingly through her bush and carefully pushed two fingers inside her. Warm and wet and eager, she enveloped them effortlessly and let out a delightful moan as he stroked her inner flesh. "Any of your boyfriends back then do that for you?" "Are you kidding?! It was all about them, you know!" "They didn't know what they were missing, did they?" Jim whispered in her ear as he rubbed rhythmically. He was rewarded with Betty leaning her head back and enjoying the sensation with husky wordless exhalations. "Don't stop..." Of course, he didn't, not until Betty let him know in no uncertain terms that she was coming. Her screeches were loud enough for Jim to worry about her parents hearing; but they weren't disturbed -- except perhaps by Betty digging her long fingernails into Jim's arm hard enough to leave scratch marks. But he didn't let that bother him. When the orgasm had passed, Betty opened her eyes and, with a whispered "Thank you," she prodded him back gently onto the bed. Jim had only just enough time to register what he was in for next before Betty climbed atop him and took his hard cock in her hand to guide inside. "Back then they always had to be on top," she explained breathlessly as she began rocking them both into ecstasy. "All about them, you know? Always leave me pinned to the bed with hardly any friction. But not you, Jim!" "Not me!" Jim agreed as he looked up adoringly at Betty's breasts jiggling rhythmically as she humped him. Fearing he might come first, he reached into her bush and rubbed her clit with his thumb. "Oh God, Jim! Yes! I used to wonder how many guys even knew where that was! Yes! Yes!" Once again, Betty left no doubt that the big moment had arrived. Along with her screeches of joy, she squeezed her thighs tightly against Jim's sides and rocked harder than ever. Jim, figuring it was safe now, let himself go as well and came with a happy roar of his own, lifting his head and shoulders up off the bed as he did. Once it was passed, he plopped back down on the pillow and opened his eyes to see Betty looking curiously down at him. "Are you okay?" he asked, concerned. "Hmm? Yes, of course! Yes! It's only, Jim, well, I've never seen a man so responsive before." Jim laughed. "Wow, you and your flattering tongue." "It's true!" Betty reassured him, and sliding him out of her, she lay down beside him and put an arm around his chest. "You deserve to know how wonderful you are, especially after what I saw with your mom and those brats. I just want you to know that." "You're too sweet," Jim said, and he returned her hug. Jim was never quite sure if he fell asleep, or if it was only deep contentment that had him feeling sleepy when Betty shook him back to reality. "Jim! The sun is almost down!" She pointed out the window and he saw dusk was falling over the cars in the street, which also revealed that it was still the twenty first century out there. "I'm so sorry, but we need to get your clothes back on and get you out of here now!" Jim knew better than to argue by then, so he stood up and grabbed his pants up off the floor. "Will I see you again?" he asked Betty as he watched her pull her dress back on, not bothering with her bra. "Maybe someday decades from now," Betty offered. "I'm sorry, that's the most I can offer. "You'll understand someday." "I doubt it," Jim said, pulling his shoes on as fast as he could. "Maybe you're right," Betty admitted, her hand on the doorknob as she waited for him. "There's an awful lot I'm never going to understand about my own life and what's come after it." After it?! But Jim said nothing. He only nodded sadly and took Betty in a final, fond embrace. A quick kiss, and then she had the door open and was rushing him down the hall. It hadn't even occurred to him to wonder what Audrey and Heather were up to. They were waiting in the foyer, munching cupcakes and looking unusually subdued. "Jim!" Heather looked pleased to see him for the first time he could recall. Jumping up at the sight of him, she threw her arms around him. "I'm sorry, Jim! I'll never mouth off at you again!" "Me neither," Audrey said, though her smile looked forced. Betty's father stood in the living room doorway, with a woman at his side -- Betty's mother? "I hope they were no trouble," Jim said to them. "Not at all, dear," said the woman. "They were perfectly delightful to spend the afternoon with. I hope Betty kept you entertained?" Jim looked to Betty to see how he ought to reply to that, only to see she had vanished. "Yeah!" he said, "Yeah, she was great. Thank you for a lovely afternoon." Turning to Heather and Audrey, he gave them a knowing look to the effect that they ought to say the same. To his amazement, they both did. Outside in the dark, Jim turned to Heather as soon as the door had shut behind them. "What on earth happened to you two in there?" he demanded. "I..." Heather began. "Well, they..." Audrey stammered. "We're sorry, Jim!" Heather exclaimed again. "I see what a couple of brats we were now, and I'm sorry!" "Thanks, but what happened?" Jim asked again. "Can't we just go home?" Audrey asked. "I want to get out of this pumpkin!" Jim gave up on trying to understand anything at that point. He did bring Audrey home, and then he and Heather returned home. Their mother was three sheets to the wind, but that only meant Heather was able to put on a brave face and show off all the candy she'd collected without having to explain the traces of bewilderment that Jim could see all too well. Jim took his leave immediately and was off to the shower in case Mom happened to smell the unmistakable scent of just-had-sex that he was sure he was bathed in. The next morning, Heather was still uncharacteristically respectful to him, and still absolutely unwilling to say anything about what she had seen. He did get a reassurance that no one had touched her or anything so horrible as that. "It wasn't like that," she said. "Nothing like that, just...I'm sorry, Jim. That's all, I'm sorry! About Audrey, too!" "What's nothing like that?" demanded their mother, who had appeared in the kitchen doorway. "Oh, nothing," Heather reassured her. "Jim?" Mom demanded. "What is she talking about. What stupid thing did you do with her this time?" "Nothing!" Jim insisted. "He's right, Mom, it wasn't his fault," Heather added. "What wasn't his fault?" "Nothing!" Heather insisted. Mom grabbed at Jim's collar and pulled him close to her. "James, what did you do to your sister?" "Nothing!" Jim insisted. Mom let him go, but not before she shoved him into the refrigerator. "I can't force you two to tell me what's going on. But Jim, if I do find out you were up to anything inappropriate with your sister, you're dead. Understood?" "I don't understand anything," Jim said, rubbing the spot on his head where he was sure a bruise was growing. "Get out of my sight," Mom grumbled. Jim scrambled away upstairs to his room, where he locked the door and set about packing his suitcase. The dorms didn't open for a few more days, but he had friends who lived off campus. A bigger problem was getting out of the house and to the bus station unnoticed. It only took a few minutes to pack, but Jim found he couldn't leave just yet. He looked out the window and craned his neck for a long look down the street. He could only just see Casper House. Hearing Mom's ranting downstairs, he knew there was only one choice. Jim opened the window and lifted the suitcase carefully out onto the porch roof, and climbed out after it. He managed to climb down the maple tree with one hand, gripping the suitcase in the other, and he was free. Casper House looked just as it had yesterday and always: ominous, nearly abandoned, old. He saw that some other neighborhood kids had TP'd the overgrown bushes in front of the house. That wasn't right, Jim concluded, and he set about clearing the toilet paper off the bushes. He didn't know or care how long it took, and so he didn't know how long the old man had been watching from the porch by the time Jim happened to look up from the last of the bushes and see the man smiling down at him. "Thanks, kid," he said. The memory of Betty's caresses meant Jim knew no fear of the man or his house anymore. "You're very welcome, sir. Stupid pranks, I don't know why anyone does it." "Me neither," the old man said. "Cup of coffee?" "I'd love one," Jim said. Having stashed the last of the toilet paper in the garbage can by the garage, Jim took the waiting mug and shook the old man's hand. "Listen, I feel like I ought to apologize," he said. "When I was a kid, we were always terrified of you, and now I see there was no need to be." "I understand," the man said. "I don't get out much since my wife died, and even before that, neither of us got out much after our daughter died. I guess it made people wonder about me." "I'm sorry!" Jim said. "About your daughter, I mean. I had no idea..." But he suspected that in reality, he did. "It was long before you were even born," the old man said. "Back in 1959, actually. She was in college. Car wreck. Cars were deathtraps back then, you know." "So I've heard," Jim said. "You hear a lot about those days, I mean, those of us who are too young to remember..." "Don't I know it!" the old man concurred. "I ain't gonna tell you it was the good old days, there was plenty wrong. And the Chevy that took my Betty away, that was one of them." Tears came to Jim's eyes. "God, I'm so sorry," he said. "Yes, well, she's still in this house in spirit," the old man said. "Forever twenty years old, I guess, and still playing that damn rock and roll music." "I have to admit, I love fifties rock," Jim said. "Always have." "Do you!" The old man stood up. "Well, let me get you something, then." Before Jim could protest, he'd vanished inside. He reappeared minutes later with an ancient shoebox that Jim recognized from the day before. "Betty's records," he said. "I'd like them to go to someone who'll appreciate them, because I sure don't." "Sir, I couldn't!" Jim protested, though he desperately wanted to take the records. "They're not doing any good gathering dust in there," the old man said. "Please. I think she'd have wanted it this way." Jim nodded sadly and took the box. "Maybe you're right, sir. Thank you! I'll take great care of them." The old man looked him up and down. "I know you will. You've got a bus to catch, haven't you?" "Yeah," Jim said absentmindedly, looking down the block to Maple Street and the way downtown. "Yeah, I do. Hey...thanks," he said, picking up the suitcase with his free hand. "You're welcome, Jim," said the old man, just before he disappeared inside. Jim glanced over his shoulder in surprise. But the door was closed.